


Afterdeath

by TimeLordOfGallifrey



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Murder House
Genre: Gen, Hurt Tate Langdon, Swearing, The shit being beat out of Tate, Theft, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 03:01:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4812476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimeLordOfGallifrey/pseuds/TimeLordOfGallifrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once Chad and Patrick awaken as ghosts in their own home, they're understandably a tad upset. So they take out that anger in perhaps the easiest way possible, beating the shit out of their murderer, Tate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Afterdeath

**Author's Note:**

> For the anon on tumblr ho requested I write a Hurt!Tate fic, here you go! Hope you like it!
> 
> Sorry for any mistakes, I don't think I've proofread it as well as I could have but oh well. This is just a quick one shot.
> 
> If you've got any prompts for me then please just give me a bell, I'll get round to them as soon as I can!
> 
> Enjoy!

Tate flicked lazily through TV channels on the television set that Chad and Patrick had owned before their Tate-induced demise. The rubber suit he'd worn to kill the pair hung carelessly on the back of the chair by the old desk in his old room, where he lay on his bed, watching the stolen TV. His door was thrown violently open as the body builder stormed into the room, closely followed by his boyfriend. Tate instantly stiffened up, dropping the remote onto the covers.

“Hey fellas.” He said with a cheerful smile and a cocky wave.

“You little shit!” Patrick snarled, tearing towards the floppy-haired kid on the bed, “You killed us! You killed me you shit-faced dick!”

Tate scrambled backwards on his bed, away from Patrick, “Wow, someone's tetchy.” he teased.

“You'd be too had you just got murdered.” Chad snapped, holding up the rubber suit with a look of pure venom on his face, “So out with it, who are you, and what are you doing in out house?”

“It was my house first.” Tate replied, grinning manically as he backed into the corner by the window, away from the bitter blond.

Chad shook his head, dropping the suit to the ground and stamping on it with an Italian leather loafer “You come into our house and--”

“Stick a fire poker up my ass? That's fucking psychotic.” Patrick interrupted, clenching his first and swinging it hard at Tate's skull.

“I wasn't done talking Patrick.” Chad huffed, doing nothing to prevent Patrick's fist from striking Tate across the jaw, slamming the boy's head into the wall and sending him sprawling to the floor.

“You beat your wife like that?” Tate asked with a vicious smirk, propping himself up on an arm and wiping the blood away from his split lip, “I'd happily shove another fire poker up your ass.”

“Or I could shove one up yours.” Patrick suggested, sending a rib-cracking kick straight into the younger blond's chest. Tate groaned, rolling back onto the floor, clutching his arms to his chest. “That'd be poetic justice, wouldn't it kid?” Patrick sneered, gearing up for another kick.

“You can't kill me you know, I'm already dead.” Tate pointed out before scrambling away under the bed and pulling himself to his feet on the other side.

“I can't believe you turned us into ghosts. If that's what we even are.” Chad huffed, closing the door and leaning against it.

“Yes, you're ghosts. God you guys are slow.” Tate said a split second before his entire body was slammed into the wall by the full force of Patrick's strength. The wind was knocked out of him as his back was slammed into the hard stone of the wall. Patrick brought back a fist and sent it smashing forwards into his gut, and again, and again. Tate slid to the ground, blood dripping from his smirking lips.

“Patrick, don't be such a ball hog.” Chad said with a dramatic sigh, “You weren't the only one to die.” he muttered, striding calmly forwards, brushing past Patrick and fisting Tate's blond hair in a tight unyielding grip. The kid's hands instantly flew to meet Chad's in a manic attempt to free his head from the Chad's fist.

“Get your skanky hands off me you cock-sicking shitbrain!” Tate yelled, standing his ground as best he could as Chad dragged him towards the window.

“Say one more rude thing about me and I will cut out your tongue.” Chad scowled and smashing Tate's head against the glass of the window, shattering it into hundreds of pieces. Patrick's eyes met Chad's, both shared the same message. A quick nod form Chad was all it took for the couple to push their murderer out the second story window. Tate flew from the room, shards of glass still stuck in the window frame tore into his legs as he fell to the ground where he landed, broken, in a pile of shattered glass. Blood oozed from his wounds, staining the grass beneath him.

“You cut out his tongue, I'll cut off the little shit's dick.” Patrick said with a murderous grin as he watched the body of the boy below as it struggled for breath, sputtering up blood from his throat.

“No.” Chad said pointedly, tapping Patrick angrily on the chest, “You don't go anywhere near another man's dick so long as I'm on this Earth. Don't think I haven't forgotten about why we were arguing before that bloody blond twat rudely interrupted us.” he spat, “You go no where near that boy's dick or _I'll_ shove a fire poker up your ass.”

“Point taken.” Patrick said looking at his lover in disbelief, he wouldn't have taken the threats to heart before, but now, in Chad's so clearly wound up state, he wouldn't put it past him anymore, “Now, shall we go finish the little limp dick off?”

“I'd like nothing more, darling.” Chad said with a small teasing smile as he glanced down at the limp form of Tate on the ground below.

Together, the pair made their way towards the door of the bedroom, through not before Patrick grabbed the television remote and stuffed it into his pocket, picking up the television itself on his way out the door.

 


End file.
